


Under the Sun

by MrsCaulfield



Series: Solomon [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no definitive goal to your return. There is but one reason that you are here and one reason alone. A whisper of a promise you’ve been given all those years ago by a man you aren’t even sure remembers you anymore. (Sequel to Chasing After Winds)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Sun

_“I saw the tears of the oppressed—and they have no comforter;_

_power was on the side of their oppressors—and they have no comforter._

_And I declared that the dead, who had already died,_

_are happier than the living, who are still alive._

_But better than both is he who has not yet been,_

_who has not seen the evil that is done under the sun,”_

_Ecclesiastes 4:1-4_

_-_

You are standing in the middle of a crowd.

There are many things that bother you about this. The way that living bodies emanate heat as they press up against you, making you feel stuffy as you adjust the collar of your neatly-ironed dress shirt to allow more air in. The amalgamation of various scents that linger in the air, of sweat and grime and cloth, and the noise that they all make. Why do people even need to talk so much when they never say anything?

Except that’s not exactly true. They do say something. One thing. And the problem is that with seven billion people in the world and the billions, trillions, infinite amounts of DNA genetic combinations that could occupy those seven billion people, you’d think there’d be more diversity around here. But there isn’t. They all sound the same.

You are the same. You do the same menial tasks and strive for the same menial goals as they do. You are nothing but a face in the crowd and you do not know if that is what you want to be or not.

It bothers you that you cannot hear the click-clack of your boots as you walk to the luggage carousel to get your bags. The place is absolutely crowded and it makes you feel like the whole world is conspiring against you. Like that Hegemon guy from that sci-fi novel you just read. It’s a scary thing, to want to lead but not to rule. But you have always been unclear even to your own self.

It has been years since you last set foot on this place. You don’t know what you’re expecting. You honestly don’t. Much as you’d like to be, you are not the same person that you were the last time you stood in this very spot. Back then, you had a definitive goal: To travel to a far away place and study. It’s easy enough to devote your whole being to that. You just didn’t expect it to be over so fast.

Right now, there is no definitive goal to your return. There is but one reason that you are here and one reason alone. A whisper of a promise you’ve been given all those years ago by a man you aren’t even sure remembers you anymore.

You keep walking until you exit the airport completely. There are even more people outside, waiting for their loved ones to step through the doors you yourself just went through. And it’s an odd thing to see all these people, and you wonder who they are and who they were and who they will be. Except you already have an idea what they will be like in the days to come. You’ve always prided yourself in setting sights to the future, and that is because you know what each and every person of the seven billion population will become:

Dead.

You will be dead too. And you look at them and you see the smiles on their faces, and you smile too, even though you don’t feel a tad bit happier. You mutter to yourself as you pass by them with your luggage in tow. “For who knows what is good for a man in life, during the few and meaningless days he passes through like a shadow? Who can tell him what will happen under the sun after he is gone?”

The cab ride to your hotel turns out to be rather nostalgic. You see many familiar places and you remember many things about each of those places. Each landmark is ingrained in you, each with its own story, its own life. You think about that bridge you used to frequent, and you wonder which of you will outlast the other. There is no contest. The bridge shall remain long after you are gone. Of course, there is a possibility that it will be destroyed to make way for another project, but you know that each piece of wood there will only be converted to dust and flutter away. Each nail used to hold it together will fall into the rushing river below and settle at the bottom and eventually resurface and get washed ashore. You, on the other hand, you will fade away, left locked in a coffin as a pile of ash. 

There is nothing new under the sun. Everything has been on this earth long before you started to exist, and will continue to do so long after you are gone. There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.

So what on earth are you fighting for?

What are you doing all of this for?

Meaningless. Everything is meaningless, a striving after the wind and grievous evil under the sun. Completely obsolete and meaningless. You are but a face in the crowd. You will be acknowledged, but not remembered. Everything you are right now shall fade away.

-

You wonder how he is right now, whether he’s pursued his college degree or dropped out to become a carpenter or if he became just another star in the sky. You wonder why you miss him. You wonder why you miss him so much.

Loving him, and being loved by him, that was the most grievous evil that has ever happened to you under the sun and you have never known how cruel the world can be until you met him. You live in a messed up world. In place of judgement and justice, wickedness stood and towered over all and you only realized this when you met him.

-

The next few weeks prove to be very difficult for you. You’ve rented out an apartment and are looking for a job now. You don’t worry too much about that. You’ve changed. You’ve been doing well, and you can say with complete confidence that you won’t need to go chasing after companies because they would hire you without a second thought. You have always been this man who does work and is good at it. It would be nice if it weren’t all just meaningless.

-

You wonder what will happen if you run into him. It’s bound to happen one day in a small town like this, assuming he hasn’t moved out of course. Will he remember you? If so, then will he take you in his arms and never let you go or will he settle for an awkward greeting for old times’ sake?

He will not take a second look at you. He’ll not remember you. He’ll wonder why, when he sees you, there is a tiny stirring in the back of his mind of a distant memory, but will not pay it any heed. You’re forgettable and unimpressionable. It simply cannot be possible that you left a mark on him that’s anywhere near the one he left on you.

But you still miss him. You miss him a lot. And you want to say that missing him is meaningless too, but you can’t do it.

Everything is meaningless.

Except for him, because he means the world.

And it’s scary, now that he’s gone on and forgotten you, just as surely as the actual world will forget you one day.

You’re nothing. Everything you are is microscopic. You will never be able to create an impression that will outlive you. You’ve long since left behind the shadow left by your grandfather, but it came at a high cost: Your direction. Now that you’re done, what is there left to do? Where will you go?

-

There will not be another person out of the seven billion population that will be able make you feel like you are worth something like he did.

You think back to that day you arrived in Europe and learned that his name means ‘world’ in another language.  It’s a coincidence that the universe transpired to be strangely befitting to him, to your perception of him.

And you laugh. And this time, it’s because you are happy.

-

The house looks great.

When he promised you he’ll fix it up, all those years ago, he did mean it. You stand in front of it, peering through the fog-stained windows to spot any sign of life coming from the inside. There’s no one in there.

He probably fixed it and moved out a long time ago. You roam your eyes around the perimeter, looking for a possible FOR SALE sign. No such thing met your sight, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

You take a step back and remember him. For though you are forgotten, you will always think of him and say with all the certainty you can muster that you can never love anyone like you love him and it is the most grievous evil that you have ever seen.

Your heart beats fast until it is pounding wildly inside your chest and you find that it’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe. You wrap your arms around your body, as if the act of physically holding yourself together will keep you from tearing apart. You release more shaky breaths and tremble under the midnight air. And you are alone and you have never been as alone as you are now.

Who are you?

What will become of you when you are gone?

You are nothing. Nothing but a face in the crowd. And you will not leave your mark on anyone. Not even him. Especially not on him. How insignificant you must be to him. To think that you can just come barging into his life and fall in love with him was the most grievously evil act this world has ever seen.

And you love him. Just as surely as you know that there is nothing new under the sun, you know that your love for him, too, shall outlive you.

And should it end up that your love for him be the only thing you’ll leave when you are long gone, will it make any change at all? Will he feel it, and know even though he is thousands of miles away and you are long gone, that your love for him is not as fragile, or frail, or as easy to eradicate as the body you possess?

You stare up at the house, the house he’d shown you so many years ago, and that whisper of a promise is something you cannot and will not be able to forget. Tears stream down your face and you start sobbing, not at all caring who hears you. Your body racks with each sharp inhale, each breath of despair that you take in. It’s daunting and crushing. It takes you above over your head and draws you in like a moth to a flame with all the readiness in the world to burn up.

You hear footsteps behind you and you straighten up immediately. You turn around and see someone. Someone looking at you, straight at you, and you wonder how it’s even possible for him to discern your face over the crowd that’s coming in on you from all sides, making it harder to keep going.

He looks at you with that same look in those purple eyes, only partially obscured by his unchanged thin-framed glasses: Warm, regretful, full of sorrow.

Your heart swells at the sight of him and you are petrified to your spot. If only he has an idea who you are. If only he knows about how menial your entire existence is and how utterly meaningless was the lie you forced yourself to live up to all your life.

You wipe the tears from your face hastily with the back of your hand and take a deep breath as you look at the man who became your entire world and hasn’t stopped since.

“ _Kiyotaka?_ ”

The world stops when he utters your name. There is no turning back now.

You keep taking deep breaths as you gaze at him through the darkness and he takes over your entire field of vision. You are so small compared to him. You’re surprised he even knows your name.

“H-hi…” Tears threaten to break out from your eyes as you speak and your voice is so shaky you wonder if he even understands you. “…Stranger.”

A small frown appears in the space between his eyebrows but it only lasts for a moment. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say but fails miserably. More time passes as you wait for him to say something, anything. There are crickets chirping from the distance hidden behind a layer of trees, their song calming down the bundle of stress that gradually builds up in your chest.

At long last, he clears his throat and settles for a prompt answer. “You came back.”

You press your lips in a hard line and nod. You are separated from him by a few feet of space ladened with blades of grass and you want nothing more than to be close to him and settle in his arms, to close in on yourself and listen to the sound of his heartbeat. And so encompassing is your desire to do so that it takes over your entire being and causes a physical throbbing in the pit of your stomach. It hurts to look at him, to miss him, and know that you have been forgotten.

“How… how was Europe?” he asks, trying for a small, comforting smile.

“It was nice,” you reply hoarsely. “Great.”

His expression holds the gentility of a thousand tiny feathers coming up to caress you in the middle of the night. He knows you. He cares about you. You stop crying now. The crickets’ song carries on and the cool night air feels a lot colder to you than most other nights.

“Are you okay?” he asks you.

“Please,” you say, but you have no idea what for. It was simply the only word that you are capable of telling him and your mind is spinning with the realm of possibilities, all orbiting around this single phrase and you say it again. “ _Please_.” Your voice breaks and you make an involuntary sharp intake of breath.

His eyes go wide and you wonder if it’s out of concern or pity. His expression falters and he hesitates briefly before he brings a hand and extends it towards you, palm up, his purple eyes never breaking your gaze. “C’mere.”

For a while, you do nothing but stare at it. “W-what?”

He rolls his eyes, a gesture you’ve seen him do a handful of times in the past and you used to view with scorn, but now you find it rather endearing. You stand there, taking him all in and this causes him to worry. “Well…?” he says, impatient. His hard jawline locks in agitation.

You take a step towards him. And another. And another. You stand close enough to touch him now and your hand hovers above his as you bite your lip and hear the blood pounding in your ears. “ _Please_ ,” you say again, closing your eyes.

“I don’t understand. Please what?”

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely, “Please be real.” 

You bring your hand down to meet with his and a ripple of sadness comes over you when there is nothing but air. You choke back a sob. Not real, then. Not real.

You dare not to open your eyes as the pain in your chest grows even bigger and starts consuming you and all that you feel. The decidedly cool night air becomes harsh to your skin and the chirping of the crickets continues in the distance, playing a melody that no longer soothes you.

A hand comes up to caress your cheek and the touch is so familiar that you lean into it without even thinking. You try to say something when a pair of soft lips presses over your mouth and prevents you from accomplishing the task. Swirls erupt from the pit of your stomach, bursting from the pain that had settled there before, freeing you from the disposition that so brought you down you nearly forgot how to live. You let go of that, and you meld into the kiss and into him, leaning on his chest. So solid and real and you can’t believe he is standing in front of you, kissing you when you are only a shout into the void and you feel that the stars should fall out of place but you don’t want him to stop. A soft whimper rises up from your throat and he pulls back abruptly, concerned.

“Please,” you say again in a whisper. 

He shakes his head. “That was never an option.”

A new sensation settles in your chest and you’re feeling again. You’re feeling too much and it is more than you can take but you are happy. You’ve never been this happy in a long time. You reach up a hand and let your fingers press on his lips, gliding them across in an almost absentminded motion as you look up at his beautiful, questioning eyes. “Kiyotaka,” he says. Your name coming out of his mouth causes your insides to melt. His was a voice you never thought would utter that word ever again. He presses his lips to the pads of your fingers before speaking again. “Did you really think I was just gonna—”

“Yes,” you reply without missing a heartbeat. “I did.”

He catches your hand in his and moves it up to the side of his face. “God, you are still such an idiot. I’ll just never understand how your mind works. How you’re able to think of such ridiculous shit.”

You bite your lip, warmth rising to your cheeks. Your heart is racing and your head is spinning and you are confused. Not once did you think that your assumptions were ridiculous. In fact, you thought they were perfectly reasonable. Until now, they are still reasonable. And should he choose to leave you, you aren’t sure how you’ll go back to living then.

All those years spent at trying to be the best. To work hard and achieve success. To leave a mark and be remembered as a good man with a great name. All of that had been a lie. Right now, standing in a pitiful position and having achieved most of that, you are just tired.

You stroke Mondo’s cheek lightly. You feel him take in a deep sigh. If only one person remembers you, if only this person thinks of you as he goes to sleep at night, if he gets reminded of you in the process of doing the most inane tasks of any day, if only he knows your name and keeps it in his heart and if only he knows how much love you have to give him and him alone, then you are happy. You are not forgotten.

You get up on your tiptoes and press your lips to his again. You pull back quickly to find that his eyes are closed. His brows furrow in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

And you can’t help the smile that breaks out of your face at the sight of this lone man who waited for you, who built a house for you, who offered you a lifetime of promises you were too stupid to keep. You are never letting go of him again.

You kiss him again. And again. And again. Each kiss is harder and more contemplative than the one before and you are both smiling so much that it begins to hurt. Your hands grip his shirt and his come up to grasp yours. The wind is cool and soft as it envelopes you in a blissful hug. All the stars are in place. Something anew has risen under the sun.

And you look forward to the days to come.


End file.
